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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455789">The Return to Chateau Meinster</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_owl/pseuds/disgruntled_owl'>disgruntled_owl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dracula (Movies - Hammer), The Brides of Dracula (1960)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>19th Century, Canon-Typical Violence, Castles, Corpses, Death by Sunlight, Diary/Journal, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Forests, Gothic, Hammer Horror Universe, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Romance, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Staking, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:09:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_owl/pseuds/disgruntled_owl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the Baron Meinster has been destroyed, his abandoned brides still stalk the forests near Badstein, pursued by the exhausted, vulnerable Van Helsing. Marianne Danielle must summon the courage to return to the horror-filled Chateau Meinster if she is to rescue the man she loves before it is too late.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marianne Danielle/Van Helsing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Holiday Horror 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/gifts">RobberBaroness</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marianne woke to something cold slithering down her neck. A small object, no heavier than a coin, rested on her breastbone. As sleep faded, half-formed horrors surfaced in her mind. The panicked braying of horses. Padlocks tumbling from coffin clasps, their shackles unbroken. Red-rimmed eyes and wet fangs. Flames licking the tattered sail of a windmill.</p><p>Floorboards groaned nearby—danger could still be close. With her eyes still shut, she reached toward her heart. Her fingertips brushed metal and a delicate figure in relief. A crucifix. Rosary beads rolled over her collarbones. She exhaled and opened her eyes to discover a room with rustic earthen walls, which were honey-colored in the afternoon sunlight. Vases stuffed with tapered green leaves and star-like blooms stood guard on the night tables beside her bed, while fat bulbs of garlic dangled over the locks on the casement window. Beyond it, the village square was empty.</p><p>Marianne wandered to the window and rested her head against the glass pane, still weary and disoriented. Memories seeped back, diluting the lingering terrors from her dreams. This had to be the inn in Badstein, the last village before the Lang School. There was no sign of her luggage—perhaps it was still with the stagecoach driver that had left her behind at the inn. Still, that misfortune was an ordinary one. Her visions might have simply been the last embers of a nightmare, kindled by yesterday’s daydreams as she rode deep into the romantic forest landscape beyond Ingolstadt. She likely had no more to fear than the ire of Herr and Frau Lang, who must be anxiously awaiting their new teacher.</p><p>Outside, two stout men brandishing rifles marched across the desolate square, radiating purpose. Faces appeared in the windows of the surrounding buildings. Marianne fondled the crucifix as she watched an old peasant woman paint a white stripe down the center of a door. Unease brewed in her stomach. She had no habit of wearing a rosary to bed, and even if she had, her own was stowed away in her luggage, wherever it was. She could not remember accepting one from any of the villagers, which left the unnerving possibility that someone had slipped one around her neck while she slept.<br/><br/>Downstairs, the bolts of the inn’s front door shuddered and its hinges groaned. The hairs on Marianne’s neck stood on end. She turned toward her own door and spotted a slip of paper resting on the floor just beyond the threshold. As heavy footfalls sounded in the dining room below, she knelt and unfolded the note.<br/><br/><em>Marianne,</em><br/><br/><em>The Baron may have perished, but his undead brides still roam free. I beg you to remain here at the inn, where you will be protected, until I return. </em><br/><br/><em>Yours, </em><br/><br/><em>J. Van Helsing</em><br/><br/>Van Helsing. The gaunt doctor with the gentle but haunted expression, who smelled of sweat, lavender, and ash.<br/><br/>Marianne sank back on her heels. She would not have known Van Helsing had she not fled the Chateau Meinster, the malevolent cackles of the Meinsters’ servant Greta ringing in her ears. Her nightmares had not been fed by fantasies, but by memories. The Baroness Meinster had indeed lain paralyzed in her velvet upholstered chair, bloody puncture wounds marring her throat. Her friend Gina had transformed into a corrupt revenant, tempting her with sickly sweet words while her eyes brimmed with a bottomless hunger. The dangerously handsome Baron had shattered the window of Marianne’s bedroom at the Lang School, fangs flashing beneath lips that once kissed her tenderly. Van Helsing himself had splashed the Baron with holy water and set the decrepit mill that surrounded them aflame. The letter in her hands rendered all these things undeniable.<br/><br/>She stroked the beads around her neck. Van Helsing must have been the one who placed the rosary on her. She imagined his hands, cool and slightly calloused, smoothing these beads against her throat while worried creases formed at the corners of his eyes.<br/><br/>Voices carried from the dining room, muffled but full of anxiety. Marianne dressed hastily, and as she moved a smoky odor wafted from the folds of her gown. She slipped the letter into her bodice and headed into the corridor, towards the stairs that led down to the dining room. As she approached, the voices below became sharper. From the top of the landing, she could see Johann, the innkeeper, pass by one of the tables. The two riflemen, now seated, cast long shadows on the floor.<br/><br/>“There were burn marks on him, ‘specially 'round his eyes and mouth,” one said, his voice husky and somber. <br/><br/>“Then how did you identify him?” Johann asked. Ale gurgled out of a barrel and splashed into steins.<br/><br/>“That bright blond hair of his,” said the other, his voice brash, like a trumpet blast. “And the Meinster signet ring. But his body was a mess, like something was trying to steal his heart out of his chest.”<br/><br/>Marianne’s stomach flipped. More memories of last night flooded back. As the Baron had collapsed to the ground beneath the cross-shaped shadow of the mill, she had fallen into Van Helsing’s arms. As he embraced her, his heart thundered and the muscles in his arms remained tense. She had barely caught her breath before he ushered her behind a storehouse and told her to wait for him, and not to make a motion or sound. When he had finally rested a hand on her shoulder to escort her away, she saw no change on him except for a damp sheen on his waistcoat. Who else, or what else, had been out there in the dark, hiding behind the plumes of smoke?<br/><br/>“Whoever did this, they believed the rumors,” the sullen rifleman murmured. “Or they are a monster themselves.”<br/><br/>“What did you do with him, Valter? The Baron, I mean.” Johann’s wife, Vera, stepped into Marianne’s view, smoothing her apron as she circled her guests.<br/><br/>“Left him at the church, where else?” the louder man replied. “They’re the ones who’ll need to deal with the body.”<br/><br/>“Father Stepnik must be at the Lang School now,” Johann mused. The taps gurgled twice more. “Otto Lang has probably sent messengers to every priest within fifty kilometers after everything that’s happened.”<br/><br/>Marianne inched closer to the top of the stairs. The floorboards creaked as she moved. Vera glanced up and her eyes widened as she spotted Marianne. She pressed her finger to her lips. Marianne slunk back into the corridor and peered around the corner, still listening.<br/><br/>“There’s more trouble here in the village than at the school by now. Something killed three of Karl Hausmann’s hounds last night. Broke the windows to Inga’s bedroom, too. Karl found her shrieking, blood on her nightdress, glass everywhere.”<br/><br/>“My God,” Vera said in a hushed voice. “Was she hurt?”<br/><br/>“Whatever it was left a few good scratches on her, at least. The fever is on her now. Karl and Liesl are praying for her, but Karl is ready to do what may need to be done.”<br/><br/>“First Ella Bauer,” his companion said softly, seemingly into his drink. “Then the dead woman at the school. The fire at the old mill. The murdered Baron. And now Hausmann’s dogs and little Inga.” Marianne heard a hard swallow. “The arrangement—it’s all falling apart.”<br/><br/>“You’re not right about much, Gustav, but you’re right about that,” Valter replied. “We’ve kept up our end of the bargain for years, indulging that horrible old woman, and now we’re losing our girls all over again.”<br/><br/>A failed arrangement, Marianne thought. A broken bargain. Three nights ago, from the balcony of her guest room in the Chateau Meinster, she had thrown a key down to the Baron. Now, deep inside the chateau, the silver chain and manacle that once bound him lay abandoned on the floor of his chamber, all but opened by her own hand. I have broken something, she admitted to herself. The Baron’s reappearance and sudden proposal had distracted her from this realization. Then, terror had blinded her to it and exhaustion had smothered it. Now it rose again, too strong to be suppressed.<br/><br/><em>You don’t know what you’ve done, you little fool</em>, the Baroness had cried as she shook Marianne by the shoulders, demanding her key. <em>You don’t know what you’ve done</em>.<br/><br/>“Father Stepnik has brought that doctor from Karlstadt,” Vera offered. “Perhaps he can find another way to put an end to of all of this.” She cast a furtive glance back up at Marianne.<br/><br/>“Faaaather Stepnik,” Valter sneered. He slammed his stein on the table. “A meddler who brings more meddlers. Who is only good for making trouble, then putting our ruined girls in unholy ground—”<br/><br/>“Stepnik is a man of God,” Johann cut in, his voice grave.<br/><br/>“And what will this ‘man of God’ and that foreigner doctor do, eh? Go snooping around the castle, provoking the Baroness until we are all ruined? God did not protect us from her rage before. Now we know her own son wasn’t even safe.”<br/><br/>The Baroness is dead, thought Marianne. Then she grimaced—she had presumed the same about Gina until the locks fell from her coffin.<br/><br/>“What hope do we have but them?” Johann asked timidly. “How many more girls will we lose?”<br/><br/>“No more of our own,” Gustav declared, his voice finally rising above a mutter. “We find Latour or that Greta woman from the castle. They’ll know what she wants and what we’ll have to do to stop this. We cannot depend on anyone else.”<br/><br/>Stools squealed as the riflemen rose. “Please, both of you, be careful and be patient,” Vera implored them. “Truly, we can't go on as we have. We should give Father Stepnik and the doctor a chance.”<br/><br/>Valter snorted. “If they come back here, tell them what’s left of the Baron Meinster is waiting for them at the church.”<br/><br/>The door banged shut. Vera let out a long sigh. Marianne returned to the top of the stairs.<br/><br/>“If they have their way, how much more blood will be spilled?” Johann asked in a hoarse whisper. “We should—“<br/><br/>“Good afternoon, Miss,” Vera chirped. Marianne took her cue and descended into the dining room. “You must be famished.” Johann shot his wife a bewildered look, but promptly straightened up as Marianne passed him. “We appreciate your patience with our petty local business.”<br/><br/>“It is quite all right.” Marianne seated herself at a table while Vera busied herself fixing a tray of chicken and rolls. The room was empty, save for the two innkeepers. Johann shuffled back behind the bar and studied Marianne as he cleaned his glassware, his brow furrowed. Her skin pricked at his scrutiny, and Gustav’s words <em>no more of our own</em> reverberated in her mind. She offered Johann a smile, hoping he would become embarrassed and look away. “I am surprised to discover it is afternoon already.”<br/><br/>“You slept like the dead,” Vera said with a forced laugh. “I knocked twice to offer you breakfast and I didn’t even hear your covers rustle.”<br/><br/>“Yes, I must have slept very deeply. In fact, I am embarrassed to say I don’t remember my coming here very well.” Marianne took pains to maintain a neutral tone and expression.<br/><br/>“Dr. Van Helsing brought you here before dawn this morning,” Vera replied. “He said he found you on the road between Badstein and the Lang School—sleepwalking, if you’ll forgive my candor, Miss. Last night there was a fire at the old windmill just north of the school, and given the commotion, he thought it wise to bring you here until things calmed down."<br/><br/>Marianne pursed her lips. Either Van Helsing had lied to the innkeepers about what happened last night, or Vera lied to her now. “Strange, I have never been told that I walk in my sleep before. But whatever was the case, I should get back to the school at once. Herr and Frau Lang must be worried or angry, and I struggle to stay in Herr Lang’s good graces.”<br/><br/>“I wouldn’t do that, Miss,” Johann said. “It’s not safe.”<br/><br/>“What Johann means is, you really ought to stay here until Dr. Van Helsing returns and has another look at you,” Vera set the tray down in front of Marianne, filling the air with the scent of paprika chicken. She promptly returned to clearing dishes and glasses off the surrounding tables. “It would be no good for you to go all the way back to the school, only to discover that you are still unwell. And the doctor certainly must be concerned about you if he went out of his way to bring you here.”<br/><br/>“But where has he gone? When will he be coming back?”<br/><br/>“I saw him leave just after cockcrow.” Johann gulped down a slug of brandy and clutched the edge of the bar. Vera gave him a look, though Marianne detected more worry than reproach in it. “By the time I got my boots on, he was across the square—too far away to catch up to. Didn’t leave a word about where he was going.”<br/><br/>Dawn was half a lifetime ago, thought Marianne. “But you believe that he will come back.”<br/><br/>“Most of his belongings are still upstairs in his room,” Vera said. “And as I said, I’m sure he’ll be back to see you.”<br/><br/>“Unless he runs into some kind of trouble.”<br/><br/>Marianne let her sentence hang in the air. The couple looked neither at her nor at one another. Johann turned his back and burnished the taps on the casks of ale. Vera looked down as she wiped down the tables. Marianne could feel something magnetic in the air, that same charge that she sensed her first night at the inn, when strangers wordlessly filed out one by one and carriage wheels rattled ominously in the darkness outside. What did they know that she did not, or perhaps even that Van Helsing did not? Did she dare reveal what she knew to them?<br/><br/>“I’m sure the doctor will be fine unless he goes looking for trouble,” Vera finally replied from over Marianne’s shoulder. “Now, you might want to take a few bites of your food, Miss, before it gets cold.”<br/><br/>“Forgive me, but I have not yet recovered my appetite.” Marianne feigned distraction as she idly pulled apart a roll, though her mouth watered at the sight of the food, so long had it been since she had eaten. “May I take my meal in my room?”<br/><br/>“Of course, Miss.” Vera looked almost relieved at her suggestion. As Marianne followed Vera back up the stairs, she glanced back at Johann, who had remained behind the bar. He reached inside his collar to fumble with something hanging around his neck, mumbling words too low to hear.<br/><br/>Once upstairs, Marianne noticed that the door to each room along the corridor was slightly ajar. A tall stack of clean bed linens rested on a bench at the far end of the hall. A basket full of garlic bulbs and green garland sat on the floor beneath it.<br/><br/>“I’ll be back for the dishes in a while, Miss,” Vera said as she placed the tray on a table beside the window in Marianne’s room. “Please take your time. Get more rest if you can.”<br/><br/>"Wait, please. Those men downstairs, with the rifles—were they police?"<br/><br/>"Not quite, Miss. Badstein is a small place. The only real constabulary is back at Ingolstadt, so all able-bodied men help protect the village in one way or another.” She patted Marianne on the shoulder and gave her a wan smile. “Those men struck you as rough, I’m sure, and Valter does have something of a temper, but they’re among the best we’ve got.”<br/><br/>“Dr. Van Helsing has been very kind to me, as you know,” Marianne said, turning to face Vera so that she would not leave. “And that one man said something serious about meddlers. Do Dr. Van Helsing or the priest have anything to fear from these men?”<br/><br/>Vera seemed to sink into her thoughts, but after a few moments, she shook her head. “No. They will be suspicious of strangers after the fire, but I don’t imagine they would suspect Dr. Van Helsing or Father Stepnik of that. They have their doubts about both men, as I’m sure you overheard, but I don’t think they wish them harm.”<br/><br/>Marianne could feel Vera’s hesitancy growing but pressed on. "Do Father Stepnik and Dr. Van Helsing have anything to fear from anyone at the chateau?”<br/><br/>Vera recoiled. A flush spread over her face. Marianne’s own cheeks burned at having had embarrassed the poor woman, but when Vera turned away, she reached for her sleeve. A thousand words raced to the tip of her tongue: about the Baron, and the Baroness, and Greta, and Gina, and about the stark message in the note left under her door—<br/><br/>“Dr. Van Helsing will need to see to himself,” Vera snapped. Her flush intensified and then drained away as she shut her eyes and massaged her temple. When her eyes reopened, Marianne was struck by the bone weariness in them, and she lowered her hand.<br/><br/>“And you must see to yourself, Miss,” Vera went on, forcing temperance into her tone, “and recover from your wild night, while I keep this place from falling to ruin.” Before Marianne could say another word, Vera hurried out and shut the door behind her.<br/><br/>Anguish permeated the room even after Vera departed. Marianne took several tentative bites of the chicken and listened as her footsteps receded. When Marianne heard the last creak of a riser, she set down her flatware and crept out into the hallway. One by one, she peered through the open doors into the guest rooms, searching for glimpses of Van Helsing’s belongings. She turned away at the sight of dainty hairbrushes and too-wide waistcoats until she reached the end of the corridor. Through the last doorway she glimpsed a table covered in a crimson cloth, with books and writing implements strewn about on top. She felt a fresh awareness of Van Helsing’s letter inside her bodice. She slipped into the room, careful to leave the door cracked behind her so that it might not look out of place.<br/><br/>The scent of garlic hung in the air, as it had above her own bed. A bulb of it had been affixed to the window locks, and dried stems lay scattered on the sill. The pillowcase and bed linens were rumpled, but the cover and sheets had not been pulled back. If Van Helsing had lain here, he had not stayed for long.<br/><br/>On the table, beside the pens and ink pots, rested a weathered yet beautifully detailed map of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Cities throughout the continent had been marked with gold symbols that glinted in the sunlight. A cross had been inscribed in Transylvania, near Klausenberg, large enough that it overwhelmed the labels of several villages in the Carpathian Mountains. Marianne found Ingolstadt, searched east, and found two symbols: a tiny cross and an even smaller circle, so tiny it risked being lost in the sea of letters and lines.<br/><br/>Next to the map lay a leatherbound book, a scarlet ribbon tucked into the heart of its pages. Marianne recalled the blank journal Van Helsing had given her to record her encounter with the Meinsters, which she had left empty. She rested her hand on the cover, flexing her fingers as she warred with the temptation to lift it. She had trespassed enough entering this room—thumbing through the doctor’s private notes would only compound her crime. Yet the ribbon held her gaze like a trail of blood. Perhaps Van Helsing had marked this page so that someone might find it and benefit from his hard-won knowledge of the creatures that stalked this place, especially if he did not return. She imagined him making his lonely trek through the dark village, with only a sliver of light along the horizon to guide him. If she knew what he knew, she or someone else might be able to follow.<br/><br/>Marianne cast a glance back toward the doorway and counted several beats. Seeing no one, and hearing nothing but her own breath, she opened the book to the marked place and began to read.<br/><br/><em>…unclear whether these women have been taught how to sustain themselves as undead, whether by the Baron or the Meinsters’ servant woman. They will thirst for blood but may not yet know how to trap or hunt victims. Anyone who encounters them will almost certainly find them in a ravenous state. More quickly will these undead maidens learn the threat the sun poses to them. They will seek shelter, likely in Badstein, until they devise means of travel to other locations. Their coffins must be destroyed. Buildings, especially those that are remote or include underground chambers, will need to be guarded and ideally sanctified with religious objects so that these women will be forced out into the open. These places include storehouses, barns, armories, even the castle itself. Crosses and relics should be removed from the village church and transported…</em><br/><br/>Instructions, just as she supposed. The previous pages in the journal, tantalizingly crimped by the nib of a pen, called out to her. She had already gone this far, and surely the others contained wisdom as this one had. She turned several pages back as carefully as she would stroke a butterfly’s wing.<br/><br/><em>...young women employed by the Meinsters who never returned from the castle. According to Stepnik, there are several headstones in the churchyard with no coffins beneath them, to remember the girls whose bodies were never found...</em><br/><br/>Some girls came back corrupted, like Ella and Gina, Marianne thought, and others never came back at all. She imagined discarded bodies littering the forbidding hillside beneath the chateau. She might have been among them, had she come within arm’s reach of the still-chained Baron, or had the Baroness stopped her before she retrieved the fateful key. She thumbed back several more pages, fueled by dread-tinged curiosity.<br/><br/><em>...contact between the Meinsters and the people of Badstein has dwindled to almost nothing, except for the Baroness’s occasional visits to the village inn. As local knowledge of the family has dissolved, legends and superstitions about them have flourished...</em><br/><br/>She flipped forward now, racing over the words until she came to an abrupt stop halfway through an entry penned only the day before.<br/><br/><em>…she possesses a combination of sweetness, innocence, and spirit that I have not found in any other woman I have known. These characteristics, perhaps even more than her great beauty, make her a most alluring victim for the Baron. She has said plainly that she loves him, and as much as it pains me, I must acknowledge that her feelings are genuine. I do not expect or hope that she would cast such a loving gaze on me, but she must be set free from him at all costs, before it is too late.</em><br/><br/>Marianne sprang back as though the paper had seared her fingertips. The journal clapped shut. She froze beside the table as sweat pricked on her neck and her cheeks grew warm. Whatever knowledge Van Helsing might have wanted the journal to impart, he could not have meant for anyone to read those words, especially not her. She crept back from the table and perched on the edge of the bed, her heart fluttering. Objects throughout the room—his fountain pen, his razor, even the pillow creased by his head—took on a new aura. All had been touched by this man who loved her.<br/><br/>Marianne retrieved and opened his letter to her, which betrayed his fatigue with slanted letters and spatters of ink. His plain words could not hide the perilousness of his pursuit. Gina and Ella were monsters, frenzied and desperate without their master. Van Helsing had gone to face them exhausted and almost certainly alone.<br/><br/>“He cannot be alone,” she whispered to herself. She would find him allies. She owed him at least that much.<br/><br/>Dishes clattered downstairs. Marianne bolted up and tiptoed to the door. Vera and Johann’s grave murmurs rose into the stairwell. They would stop her from leaving if they could, whether because of Van Helsing’s instructions or the unspoken threat that haunted this place. But more than half the day was gone, and as darkness fell, Van Helsing’s return would be more of a question of if than when.<br/><br/>The pile of linens in the corridor caught her eye and sparked an idea. She snatched several bedsheets off the stack and darted back into the room. The window beside the bed was just wide enough for a person to pass through. Below it lay a dusty footpath that bordered the far side of the churchyard, which she hoped would be as desolate as the village square. She tied the end of the sheet around the bed’s front leg, then knotted the sheets to one another to form a makeshift rope. The tricks that abetted her mischievous girlhood in Paris would serve a more noble purpose now.<br/><br/>Marianne opened the casement and tossed the free end of the sheet through it, sweeping away a garlic bulb in the process. Downstairs, the inn door opened once more. She perked up, hoping to hear a crisp English accent, but instead only heard the innkeeper's hushed voices and a third speaking deep, intimidating German. There would be no other way out but the one she had made. She climbed on to the casement and swept her skirts in front of her. The drop made her dizzy; the fallen garlic bulb was a tiny point of white on the distant ground. Still, she gripped the sheet until her knuckles were white as the cloth, then slid out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The churchyard’s stone walls and overgrown hedgerows shielded Marianne as she dropped from the inn window onto the footpath. She untied the bottom segments of her makeshift rope, stuffed them behind a barrel, then ducked beneath the coping stones to avoid detection by the villagers wandering between the graves. She could not make out their facial expressions but detected grim resolution in their gestures.<br/><br/>She crept close to the wall as she headed towards the church. When enough heads were turned, she peered over the bricks to catch a glimpse of the yard. In a grove of sarcophagi and obelisks, a strapping young man with a bayonet stood guard over a heap of overturned soil, which had been speared with splintered wood. Women in kerchiefs carried baskets of green garlands and stooped to rest one at the base of each headstone. Had Van Helsing or the priest warned them about the Baron’s forsaken brides? Or were they drawing from knowledge earned in dark times past?<br/><br/>The church’s doors had been propped open against its weathered stone face, and as Marianne approached the entrance her gaze followed the red carpet that flowed through the nave. Before the altar stood a bier, upon which rested a coffin draped in black cloth. A chill ran down Marianne’s spine—she knew instinctively who lay beneath the shroud. As much as his memory frightened her, she could not help but imagine him: luxurious blond hair swept over a scalded brow, dry blood striping his full, rosy lips, skin perfumed with a scent both intoxicating and foul—<br/><br/>“What are you looking at?” Two middle-aged women, clad head to toe in black, had emerged from the pews. The sharp scent of broken garlic stems wafted from them.<br/><br/>“Is Father Stepnik here?” Marianne’s French accent delighted her pupils at the Lang School, but it made these women’s noses wrinkle. <em>Outsider</em>.<br/><br/>“No.”<br/><br/>She straightened up and smoothed her skirts. “Do you know when he will return?”<br/><br/>“Not for some time.” One of the women placed her hands on her broad hips, blocking the path to the altar. “He is expected to be quite busy today.”<br/><br/>“Where will I be able to find him?” Marianne stepped forward, and the other woman’s hand flew to her throat. The delicate links of a silver chain flashed between her fingers. It dawned on Marianne that these women would have heard about the mysterious resurrection of one of the teachers at the Lang School, but they might not know what she looked like. Any unfamiliar young woman could be a threat. “I am very much in need of his blessing,” she added.<br/><br/>Far back in the church, beside the altar, two new figures stepped out of the wings and flanked the coffin. “If you seek protection, you would do well to return home,” the stout woman said. Marianne suspected that she meant France.<br/><br/>“While it is still light,” the other croaked. The figures in the distant apse stood perfectly still, their expressions lost in shadow. A familiar, oppressive silence rolled like a fog from the church doors.<br/><br/>Marianne set her jaw. “I am Marianne Danielle. You will tell Father Stepnik I have come, and that I am in need of his help.” She turned her back and marched away before they could refuse her. Whispers and the creak of floorboards sounded in her wake.<br/><br/>She trekked north through the town, taking care to maintain a confident, purposeful stride so that the villagers would believe she belonged among them. The few that had ventured outdoors ignored her; instead, they were engrossed in ritualistic chores. A maiden painted a white cross upon a front door while her younger brother swatted at the swags of wolfbane hung over the windows. A white-bearded man sharpened an ax blade with a whetstone. Across the way, two men nailed boards across a set of stable doors.<br/><br/>As she approached the village gate, Marianne spotted several men climbing into a horse-drawn cart. Their pitchfork tips and sickle blades gleamed in the sun. At the sound of gravel scattering from beneath her feet, they cast wary glances back over their shoulders. The driver snapped the reins sharply, and the horses took off to the east, towards the Lang School.<br/><br/>The world is closing in around the Baron’s brides, Marianne thought, just as Van Helsing had said it must. But the Baron had been no fool, nor had Greta. They would have tried to warn and protect their fledglings. The school would be a particularly dangerous place for them, full of screaming girls and men with blades and guns. If Gina and Ella were already weak from hunger and the sun, they would not dare to go, let alone remain there during the day.<br/><br/>She looked up into the forest-covered hills, which were crowned by bald stone and the red roofs of the Chateau Meinster. She felt it deep in the pit of her stomach: the girls were there. Van Helsing must know it, too.<br/><br/>The church bell tolled three dismal notes. Golden sunlight filtered through the leafless trees and danced across puddles on the rutted road. Time was moving swiftly, and if the day drained the undead, then the night would feed and embolden them.<br/><br/>At her back, Marianne could sense the dread permeating the whole of Badstein, hardening around it like a shell. Every eye, no matter how bright at first, had clouded over with suspicion when it met hers. Continuing to search for help here would only fritter away the precious daylight she, and Van Helsing, had left. She would stake her hopes on the travelers on the carriage road. Perhaps there would be one kind enough—or ignorant enough—to accompany her to the chateau.<br/><br/>She headed west, back to where the road split and its north fork ascended into the hills. Badstein's rooftops and church steeple quickly vanished behind a lattice of beech and pine boughs. She doggedly wound her way between patches of mire and debris, journeying deeper into territory not marked by so much as a wooden sign. Frogs chirped in the vernal pools on either side of the path. Birds joined their chorus, and together their song was enough to drown out any memory of the village.<br/><br/>Before long, thunder sounded in the stretch of forest behind her, though the sky was an unblemished blue. Marianne turned back and saw a black shape snaking between the trees. The crack of a whip echoed through the woods, trailed by a cacophony of whinnies and hoofbeats. Her pulse quickened as she dashed to the center of the road and waved her arms. A stagecoach barreled down the rugged path, bouncing as its wheels struck roots and stones.<br/><br/>“Hallo!” she shouted. “Hallo, there! Please stop!” The whip snapped again as the coach charged towards her. She could make out the wind-tossed manes of the horses and the glint of twin lanterns—still, it showed no signs of slowing. The pounding of hooves surrounded her; the black hulk of the coach body loomed. An image of her body wound in the spokes flashed in her mind.<br/><br/>“Stop!” she cried over the clamor of rattling wheels. “You must stop!”<br/><br/>The horses shrieked and reared up. “Steady, me beauties, steady!” the driver bellowed, and the tenor of his voice resounded in Marianne’s ears. He pitched backward as his steeds stomped and snorted. The force of their panic overwhelmed Marianne and she stumbled back into the muck. A flask tumbled from the driver’s lap and landed beside her, spattering mud on her dress.<br/><br/>“Are you mad?” Marianne snapped, clambering to her feet before hooves could land on her. “Why did you not slow down? You could have killed me!”<br/><br/>“Make no stops till Ingolstadt, the man at the crossroads s-said,” the driver mumbled. “No m-matter who you see on the road, ‘e said.” The pungent smell of brandy filled the air.<br/><br/>Marianne marched around the team of horses towards the driver’s box. As she advanced, the driver’s eyes went wide. A pall of mutual recognition fell over them both.<br/><br/>“You! You left me at the inn! How could you do a thing like that?” Marianne clenched and opened her fist, fighting her urge to lunge at him.<br/><br/>“Stay—stay back now!” the driver shouted. He swung the whip back over his head as if about to strike, but his hand was clearly shaking.<br/><br/>“Put that thing down! I know you remember me, and yet you are about to beat me like some animal.”<br/><br/>The driver glanced at the flask gleaming on the ground. She plucked it from the mud, and as she leaned forward Van Helsing’s rosary swung about her neck. “You wear the cross,” he murmured.<br/><br/>“Answer me! Why did you leave me?” Her own anger startled her.<br/><br/>The driver wiped the sweat from his brow, and his scarf tumbled away from his face, revealing his quivering jowls. “It—it was an innocent thing, I swear! I didn’t think any harm would come to you.”<br/><br/>“Then why are you looking at me like you have just seen a ghost?”<br/><br/>The driver blanched and swallowed hard. “Give me back my flask.”</p><p>Marianne swung her arm behind her back. “Not until you tell me the truth.”<br/><br/>“All right, all right.” He coughed, clearing a prodigious amount of phlegm from his throat. “There’s a man, Latour; he works for the Meinster family that lives in the castle on the hill, collecting their rents and such. He said they paid'im extra to find 'em a little ‘cultured company’ from time to time. He said he'd share the money with me if I'd help him arrange little chance meetings between the Meinsters and the passengers 'e thought would be suitable. He'd meet me at the inn, encourage me to be on my way early if he liked what 'e saw, and that'd be all."<br/><br/>The gears began to mesh in Marianne’s mind. Johann had panicked when she said that she was the only passenger on the stagecoach the night she arrived. He knew she might be left behind. Not long after the rattle of coach wheels receded into the night, a tall, sinister man—no doubt Latour—had swept into the dining room and leered at her. The other villagers had set down their steins and fallen silent. A web of dreadful tension connected them to that man and to one another, a tension that only subsided when they trickled out of the inn. None of them said a word to her. They knew the Baroness would come. They all had at least an inkling of what the fate of a lonely traveler in the Meinsters’ territory might be. Only Johann and Vera had tried to help her escape, and even they were powerless once the Baroness arrived.<br/><br/>Nausea brewed in her belly. “What happened to the other girls you left at the inn? The ones before me? Did you see them again?” Even as she spoke, she was not sure she wanted his answer.<br/><br/>“I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t—,” the driver stammered. “They must have gone on to the school, or wherever they were going…”<br/><br/>“You don’t know, do you? You don’t know that they did not come to any harm.”<br/><br/>Silence fell over the stretch of woods. The horses grew still and watched Marianne with eyes wet and black as ink. A wave of anger swept through her body, trailed by heaviness and exhaustion. She had seen so many horrors and might have missed them all, had this man’s greed not left her in the Baroness’s path.<br/><br/>“You abandoned me,” she declared, struggling to stifle her anger. “But you will make it up to me now. You will take me to the Chateau Meinster.”<br/><br/>“No, miss.” The driver crept up higher in his box as if to escape the very idea. “No, I can’t do that.” <br/><br/>"But certainly, you knew that is where the Baroness was going to take us. If you did not think anything bad was going to happen, as you say—”<br/><br/>“I never knew you or any of ‘em would be going there, miss. No one dares to go there.”<br/><br/>“And what is there, that I should be afraid?” Her voice began to quake. Stale brandy wafted from the mouth of his flask. What secrets had he drowned inside himself with all that liquor?<br/><br/>“Look,” the driver said. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take you to Ingolstadt. From there you can get the coach to Grand Varadin and from there, the train to Budapest. Then you can go wherever you want. You can get in now, for nothing, and take this to pay the rest of your way.” He scrounged inside his dusty greatcoat, pulled out a coin purse, and held it aloft. Its contents jangled inside its sagging bottom. “But please, don’t stay here, miss, and for the love of God, don’t go to the castle.”<br/><br/>Marianne grew quiet, her gaze fixed on the dangling sack of coins. The blast of a train whistle sounded in her mind, and a locomotive churned and growled as it hurtled through her imagination. She saw the glittering waters of the Danube winding through Budapest, then the confection-like palaces of Vienna, and at last the infinite lights of Paris. Home.<br/><br/>The coins jostled in the sack. Now she pictured them clinking together, their odor musty and metallic, their faces stained with the blood of innumerable girls this man had left to their dark fate.<br/><br/>“I am going to the chateau. Nowhere else.” She eyed the horses and the driver, who rocked unsteadily atop his coach. He still clutched the handle of the whip, and he might reveal a more formidable weapon from beneath his coat if she attempted to steal the cart. Her time and fortitude would be wasted trying to wrest it from him.<br/><br/>“Miss, believe me when I tell you—”<br/><br/>“Keep your money, coward.” Marianne unscrewed the flask cap, spilled the last of its contents into the mud, and tossed it beneath the carriage wheels. The driver’s breathing grew sharp as she brushed past the horses towards the forest, but she did not turn to face him. As she strode further from the road into the trees, he scrambled down from his box and padded through the wet earth to the edge of the road.<br/><br/>“Come back, miss, please!’ There was a plaintive note in his voice. “There’ll be no one else to help you, not after dark, especially not there. Please!”<br/><br/>Marianne kept walking, listening for the crunch of leaves between the driver’s boots. He paced at the threshold of the woods but did not date to cross over, as she knew he would not.<br/><br/>She marched deeper into the forest, cutting a path away from the road and into the hills. Though frustration fueled her trek, the steep grade eventually forced her to slow down. Winter had not yet surrendered to spring in this wild place, and the battle between the two left snares throughout the landscape. Clumps of snow clung to rocks and roots, and low-lying shrubs bristled with thorns and unopened buds. Meanwhile, the chill in the air had weakened to a damp clamminess, and the thaw had begun. The rolling carpet of fallen leaves hid more patches of muck and mire, which threatened to spill into her shoes with each step she took.<br/><br/>Marianne’s breath grew ragged as she climbed, and at last she sat down on a fallen tree to recover herself. There was not a soul in this part of the forest, where the bare trees stood like iron bars against the sky. Birds tittered in branches high as cathedral vaults, their distant song accompanied by nothing but gusts of wind. In the stillness, Marianne’s indignation drained away and melancholy seeped in to take its place. She had traveled hundreds of miles across Europe alone, but at this moment, she felt as isolated as she ever had. Even her past self—the naive teacher who believed she was fit to enlighten the daughters of Transylvania—had become a stranger.<br/><br/>Not far away lay the portion of the carriage road that wound up the hillside toward the Chateau. Marianne thought of the stagecoach, with its weathered but warm interior and the powerful horses beneath its harness. Was she a fool to have spurned it? No, she thought. Trusting kindness in this place had proved so treacherous. The seemingly bumbling coach driver had traded on her blood. The Baroness’ elegance and sense of <em>noblesse oblige</em> had lured her into a deadly trap. Even the Baron had worn the glamour of an imprisoned hero, and only when he had lunged at her, fangs bared, did she see him for what he was.<br/><br/>Something rustled in a nearby mound of debris. Marianne sprang to her feet and peered into the trees. Nothing moved. She crept toward one pile heaped long and high, and the leaves at its edges shuddered as she approached. A twig snapped beneath her foot and a crow took flight. In its wake, Marianne spotted the limp fingers of a glove jutting from the detritus. Its leather was gently worn and gave off a subtle sheen in the sunlight. She held it up, and from its fingertips she caught the odors of tobacco and smelling salts, and she remembered its touch. It had covered Van Helsing’s hand as he swept leaves from her exhausted body, perhaps at this very spot for all she could remember. That hand had caressed her shoulder as he raised her up, holding her fast until the salts stirred her awake. The kindness and faithfulness she saw in his eyes had never wavered.<br/><br/>Marianne pressed the glove to her cheek. As it brushed her skin, a new door opened in her heart. She recalled Van Helsing’s embrace from the previous night: the pressure of his hands, the scent of sweat rising from his collar. A warm sensation flooded through her, disarming her. This was no longer about duty or obligation. She wanted to find him, had to find him. She loved him.<br/><br/>Branches groaned as they rubbed against one another. Marianne’s passions abruptly cooled, and she looked back over her shoulder to the lonely road. This was no place for reverie. She slipped her hand into the glove and imagined the heat from his skin radiating onto hers. If she kept ahead of the encroaching night, there was a chance she might know his touch again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marianne followed the rutted carriage road while the forest grew sparse around her. As she climbed, the Chateau Meinster’s tiled spires emerged from behind the hillcrest. The haze-shrouded sun loomed behind its towers, flattening its dimensions, exaggerating its profile.<br/>
<br/>
The night Marianne had first approached the chateau, she had flown through the darkness in the Baroness’s sumptuous carriage, drunk on anticipation of grand ballrooms and fairy-tale turrets. When she had arrived, the chateau’s windows and lanterns illuminated little more than the edge of a parapet or a sliver of the roof, leaving her to conjure the rest. Now she was compelled to look upon its weather-beaten face as she trudged toward the summit.<br/>
<br/>
The forest was held at bay by low stone walls that bordered the road and the chateau’s grounds. Scraggly shrubs and a moat of dead grass separated Marianne from its doors. She hid behind a tree to watch and listen. Daylight exposed the chateau’s every crumbling brick, every fissure forced open by unruly vines. No birds darted into the castle’s eaves or perched on its roof peaks; no squirrels scurried through the unkempt bushes that lined its forbidding stone walls. Everything was deathly quiet.<br/>
<br/>
Sneaking inside would not be easy, Marianne thought. Trespassers would be exposed to anyone watching from the windows until they reached the <em>porte-cochère</em> at the main entrance. The far side of the castle, visible from the village below, offered nothing but sheer stone walls. Any invader that would dare test their impenetrability would first have to cross the treacherous, boulder-studded bluffs beneath them, let alone find a way to scale them. Being captured would bring her closer to Van Helsing than that path would.<br/>
<br/>
She inhaled sharply and sprinted across the lawn towards the <em>porte-cochère</em>, casting wary glances at the windows as she gasped for breath. No one appeared. The chateau’s double doors groaned as they yielded to her. Whoever inhabited the castle now had no mind to lock them, or they had nothing to fear from anyone who dared to enter. She closed them behind her as quietly as she could, but she did not bar them.<br/>
<br/>
The clap of her footsteps rang out as she entered the foyer, beyond which lay the great hall. Shadows gathered in the hall’s distant balcony, thickest in the doorways of the second story rooms, where doors had been shut or curtains had been drawn. The only light emanated from two tall candelabra that flanked the bare oak table, where she had once dined with the Baroness. The wriggling chevron of flames above one candelabrum had been broken. Someone had taken one of the votives—someone who needed the light, as she did.<br/>
<br/>
On the foyer walls hung shields bearing the Meinster coat of arms, a pair of short <em>jaeger</em> swords crossed behind each. Marianne crept into the great hall, snatched a chair from the banquet table, and carried it back to the foyer, careful to not let its legs scrape the floor. She climbed up on it and grabbed the hilt of one of the swords. Its blade shuddered against the shield, which fell from its mount to the floor and sent a metallic blast ringing throughout the hall.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne froze on her perch, counting her breaths as the echoes receded. She waited for the patter of footsteps or the groan of a door. Instead, Greta’s blistering cackle echoed through her mind. Y<em>ou don’t know what you’ve done, girl, but I know.</em> The broken bargain, the unlocked manacle. A wave of guilt overwhelmed Marianne and almost brought her tumbling down from atop the chair. “No,” she whispered to herself. “I came back for Dr. Van Helsing. I came back to set things right.” The wave broke, and for a moment she felt peace.<br/>
<br/>
She returned into the great hall, holding herself high to counter the sword’s unfamiliar weight. The portraits in the second story gallery peered down at her, a line of ancient Meinsters mocking her. She waited for Ella and Gina’s faces to appear beside them, but the darkness surrounding the paintings remained unbroken. On the floor, black footprints marred the circles of light cast by the candelabra. Some took the shape of shoe soles, while others had been made by bare feet. Marianne traced their path towards the hearth, where she spotted a black mass slumped by the fire grate. A mop of dark hair shone in the faint candlelight, just above broad shoulders covered by a wool greatcoat. The face of whoever this was had been turned away.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne grabbed a votive from a candelabrum and knelt beside the body. The surface of a black pool caught the light of her flame and gleamed. This can’t be Van Helsing, she told herself, though this weak reassurance did nothing to slow her racing pulse. She reached for one shoulder and pulled it down, forcing the corpse onto its back. She clapped a hand over her mouth as his face swung into view. Beady eyes, haggard cheeks, and a wide cruel mouth with dried blood flaking at its corners revealed him as the leering man she had seen in the inn three nights ago—the infamous Latour. Something, or someone, had torn at his throat, and a wooden stake jutted up from his chest. <br/>
<br/>
What did this savagery mean? Marianne wondered. <em>They will thirst for blood but may not yet know how to trap or hunt victims</em>, Van Helsing's journal had said. <em>Anyone who encounters them will almost certainly find them in a ravenous state.</em> The bite marks at Latour’s neck implied they were learning to feed, if clumsily, but the stake lodged in Latour’s breast was inscrutable. Had the hand that wielded it been driven by single-minded violence, a ravenous appetite, or a cool determination?<br/>
<br/>
More footprints circled back around his body and towards a door with a pair of antlers mounted above its frame. Those made by bare feet crisscrossed and overlapped each other, blood smeared in the spaces between them. Those made by soled shoes cut a clean arc across the floor—not one doubled back toward the hearth. The fallen Latour could not have made them. Perhaps Van Helsing had come this far.<br/>
<br/>
The door beneath the antlers was unlocked, and it opened onto a familiar corridor lit by dwindling sunlight from the neighboring rooms. The doors along this hallway were all ajar except for the last. The footprints continued toward the end of the hallway, growing ever fainter until they passed beyond the final door. Marianne knew this place—she had come through here to find the Baron chained to a doorpost, scheming to make his escape. Even now, the air flowed through the hall towards the shuttered chamber, as if to fill the lungs of something lurking behind the door. She listened for footsteps on the other side and heard faint scuttling, as though a rat were trapped there. She nudged the door open, gripping the handle to control its swing. Once inside, she pulled it shut tight behind her.<br/>
<br/>
Light spilled in through the bank of stained-glass windows across the room, painting the tile floor in jeweled tones. A large oak table had been overturned and thrust against the wall beside the door. Splintered wood jutting from its broken legs. Crimson drapes lay in scattered heaps, their rods strewn about like swords abandoned after a battle. The Baron’s silver chain lay coiled on the floor, and the manacle that once clutched his ankle hung open like a set of jaws. The scent of smoke, and something else Marianne could not identify, haunted the air around her.<br/>
<br/>
The scuttling had ceased, but a faint buzzing emanated from across the room, past the entrance to the balcony. Small black dots flitted between the dust motes drifting through the rays of sunlight. As Marianne approached the windows, the smokiness in the air gave way to the odor of rotting peaches. The cluster of flies and the cloying smell intensified above an irregular piece of furniture, which was veiled by one of the drapes. A broken shaft of wood speared the cloth, and the dried blood at its base had warped the surrounding fabric into strange terrain. A hand dangled beneath its hem, beckoning Marianne without a single twitch of a finger.<br/>
<br/>
She covered her nose and mouth to suppress her urge to retch, then stooped to inspect the hand. Whoever this had been had lain there for more than one night. One gnarled knuckle bore a familiar gold and garnet ring, and Marianne drew back at the sight of it. This hand belonged to the Baroness. Someone had dragged her fright-stricken body here and left her unburied.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne rubbed her shoulders, freshly aware of her vulnerability. Not even the Baroness, formidable as she was, was spared the cruelty of whatever prowled here.<br/>
<br/>
The scratching sounds returned, emanating from a small wood-paneled chamber on the opposite side of the room. Another crimson curtain veiled its entrance. Marianne glanced back toward the door, tempted to run. She now noticed that someone had painted a cross on its surface in what appeared to be blood. <em>Buildings,</em> Van Helsing had written, <em>will need to be guarded and ideally sanctified with religious objects so that these women will be forced out into the open.</em> This mark had to be Van Helsing’s handiwork, or Father Stepnik’s. There was a chance that Van Helsing might have one more ally in the chateau. Still, neither of them was here now, and there was something they had tried to keep out, or in.</p><p>Faint, shallow breaths replaced the scratching. As Marianne tiptoed towards the source of the sound, she smelled charred meat and hair. Shadows pooled under the curtain’s hem and then vanished, trailed by a faint hiss. Marianne clasped the crucifix around her neck, then reached for the curtain. Before she could pull it back, a familiar voice called out from inside.</p><p>“Did you miss me so much, my dear Marianne, that you dared to come here for me?”</p><p>Gina.</p><p>“Or did you come back to the castle that you thought would belong to you?”</p><p>Gina’s pale hand, now blood-crusted and singed, reached out and clutched the velvet. “The Baron loved me as well, Marianne. This place is mine, too.”</p><p>Rings rattled as Gina pulled back the curtain. Marianne gasped. Burns and bald patches marred her former friend's exposed skin. Her white shift was spattered with scarlet and hemmed by mud stains. Marianne’s tongue seemed to stick in her mouth, stifling anything she might say or even scream. Had Gina transformed fully into a monster, Marianne might have been able to bear it. Yet, she could still see the doe eyes of the companion she knew, set into the face of a walking nightmare. She had been so focused on finding Van Helsing that she had not prepared herself for encountering her transformed friend, now neither alive nor dead.</p><p>Gina’s gaze shifted to the sword, and she smirked. “You have not come for me, have you, my friend? No, I know what you are: a traitor.”</p><p>“Gina—”</p><p>“The Baron loved you best, you know.” Glimmers of sorrow lingered in Gina’s expression, and Marianne ached to see them. “If you had been faithful to him, we would all be safe. We would all be together.” Those glimmers disappeared as she scowled. “But you threw in your lot with that wicked doctor and now our master is dead.”</p><p>“How can you still love him, Gina?” Marianne blurted out. “How, after everything he has done to you?”</p><p>“Done to me? He perfected me!” The points of Gina’s fangs flashed as she snarled. “I am ruined because I have lost him! Because of what you and that wretched doctor have done!" As she lurched toward Marianne, a ray of sunlight struck her wrist, and a plume of smoke rose from her skin. She yelped and reeled back into the chamber.</p><p>“You fear the light,” Marianne murmured. She stole a glance down at the floor. Sunlight pooled around her feet, but it was already ebbing away from this corner of the room. The trap Van Helsing had set by tearing down the drapes would not hold for much longer.</p><p>Inside the chamber, Gina gritted her teeth and fanned her fingers against the walls. They wriggled out of the darkness like worms rising from wet soil. She raised her singed wrist to her lips as if to suck away the sting. Marianne turned away, at once nauseated and grief-stricken by the thing her friend had become.</p><p>“Put down your blade, Marianne,” Gina called out, her voice now jarringly gentle, as though she had sensed Marianne's anguish. “You do not need it.”</p><p>There was something beguiling in Gina’s smoky-sweet plea, even as her physical appearance had become too hideous to lay eyes on. Sweat ran between Marianne’s palm and the hilt of the sword, weakening her grip. Hold on, she urged herself, so that Gina does not see.</p><p>“You needn’t be afraid, Marianne,” she purred. “I begged you to forgive me once, when I let our Master love me even though I knew he was yours.” Her cracked, blood-daubed lips formed a coquettish smile. “Now I will forgive you for being unfaithful, for helping the doctor who destroyed the one we loved. Just put down the sword and stay with me.”</p><p>“The doctor was here. Where did he go?” Marianne’s voice, too, faltered.<br/>
<br/>
“That doesn’t matter now.” Gina smiled, hiding her teeth. “Forget him and I will forgive you.” Marianne's heart softened at these words. <em>I will forgive you for giving the Baron the key to his bonds</em>, she imagined Gina saying. <em>I will forgive you for luring him to the Lang School, where he would find me and ruin me</em>. Weariness settled on Marianne’s shoulders and in her chest, and her thoughts became a blur of heartache and regret. Her eyelids grew heavy and she lowered the sword to her side. Dazed, she took several steps into the chamber. </p><p>“There, now,” Gina said, softening her voice to a whisper. She reached out to brush loose strands of hair away from Marianne’s neck. The cool touch of her hand felt distant, more like a memory than a sensation. Only Gina’s eyes remained sharp and clear in the fog thickening in Marianne’s mind. They resembled two dark doorways and possessed an alluring warmth, as though welcoming fires had been lit in the rooms beyond.</p><p>“Just stay with me.” Gina’s hands were at her collar now, tugging at the pearl buttons there. “The doctor will die under the Master’s roof, as he should, and we will have each other.”</p><p>The iciness of Gina’s flesh now pierced Marianne like a needle. Dark visions overcame her—of Van Helsing waking on the ground in a pool of blood; of him wandering through the chateau’s corridors, staring vacantly as he stroked wounds at his throat. Instinctually Marianne thrust the sword towards Gina. “You know where he is!” she cried. “You know he is not dead!”</p><p>Gina darted away from the blade, flinging herself against the back wall of the chamber. “You’re too late, traitor, too late!” she cried as she sank to the floor. She snatched at Marianne’s ankles. Marianne stamped down on her fingers, eliciting a yelp, and staggered back towards the center of the room. Away from the chamber, the scent of charred flesh dissipated, but death still hung thick in the air. This Gina could offer her no forgiveness; she had passed beyond a place Marianne could reach her. To set things right, she would need to put Gina’s story to an end.</p><p>Marianne turned her back, even as she heard Gina crawl back to the chamber entrance. She ran down to the row of glass doors and threw them open, one by one. Sunlight, though it grew dim, washed over the expanse at the center of the room.</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing, Marianne?” Gina had risen to her feet and now clutched the wall, careful to remain out of the encroaching sun. Stringy, sweat-damp hair draped across her eyes, but Marianne could see fear brewing in them. Marianne raised the crucifix from her neck as she marched toward Gina, who scrambled back behind the curtain at the sight of it. Marianne forced herself into the chamber, sword still in hand. Gina howled and flailed, and her filthy fingernails grazed Marianne’s cheek. Marianne squeezed herself into the back corner, crucifix still held high. Christ’s body repelled Gina back towards the entrance, and the undead girl braced herself on the doorframe to keep herself from falling out.</p><p>“Tell me where Dr. Van Helsing is,” Marianne demanded.<br/>
<br/>
“You would have killed the Baron with your own hands, wouldn’t you?” Gina said, seething. The wood panels creaked beneath her grip. “I might have called you sister. Now neither you nor that hateful man will ever leave this place.”</p><p>Marianne bared her teeth and thrust her sword once more. Gina tumbled out of the chamber, clawing at the air, snagging and splitting the rosary chain so that its beads scattered across the floor. She fell into a pool of sunlight, and a hissing sound swelled, like oil in a cast iron pan.</p><p>Gina let out a piercing shriek. Marianne watched, transfixed, as the light ate into her flesh. Gina crawled across the floor, but the bands of shadow between the balcony doors were too narrow to shield her from the sun's corrosive power. Unable to watch, Marianne shielded her eyes with her arm. A sharp tug at the hem of her dress sent her crashing to the floor. The sword fell from her hand and spun across the tiles. The crucifix slipped from her grasp and slid beyond her reach.</p><p>Scrambling hands tore fabric as Gina clambered up Marianne’s supine body. Light glinted in her wild eyes and what remained of her hair. As Marianne tried to wrest free, her feet swept through the cinders that had crumbled from Gina’s body. Marianne felt Gina’s weight on her belly as she rose, teeth gnashing, towards Marianne’s neck.</p><p>Marianne wriggled toward the sunlit balcony, her gaze fixed on the length of silver chain anchored to the archway surrounding the balcony door. Gina champed her jaws and sprayed spittle as she dug her nails into Marianne's shoulders, even as the sun threatened to reduce her to bone and ash. She seemed to care not whether destruction claimed her so long as it took Marianne, too.</p><p>Gina’s breath warmed Marianne's throat as she closed her hand around the manacle. Fresh energy surged through her when the metal touched her fingertips, and she dragged herself and Gina’s disintegrating body toward the door. Gina lunged for Marianne, who swung the manacle and struck her jaw. Gina rolled off, and Marianne scrambled to her feet and snapped the silver fetter around Gina’s wrist.</p><p>Gina’s snarls curdled into mournful cries as the sun’s rays devoured her. She writhed on the floor, the chain jangling and the fetter clanging as she struggled. Marianne dashed across the room to grab the sword, but also to escape this pitiful sight. In the ruins of Gina’s face, she had seen a lost innocent and a shadow of herself. If she had not let the Baron go, Gina would be human. If it had not been for Van Helsing, Marianne would have met her same fate.</p><p>Gina’s wails reached an excruciating pitch. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Marianne turned back. Her former friend's terrified eyes shone in widening hollows. This cannot go on, Marianne thought. She deserves more than this. She raised the sword high and plunged it into Gina’s heart. There was little blood left to spill, but Marianne saw the light mercifully blink out in Gina’s eyes as she fell still. Marianne sank to her knees, then collapsed onto the floor. Dust stroked her cheek as the last rays of sunlight dissolved in darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marianne woke on the balcony and lay there for a long while. With her eyes shut, she listened. At first, she was surrounded by a deep, melancholic silence. Eventually, dried leaves skittered around her, breaking the stillness. A breeze whispered as it wound its way through the ivy that blanketed the castle walls. Tiny wings beat the air, and delicate chirps sounded from the balustrade. She had not heard birdsong since she had departed from the carriage road.</p><p>At last, she sat up and found Gina’s ashes gathered in the folds of her skirt. They tumbled to the floor as she rose to her feet and were whisked away by a gust of wind. Gina’s bloodstained shift was snarled in the links of the Baron’s chain, its empty sleeves fluttering in the breeze. Beyond the balcony, the castle courtyard was veiled in gloom. The waning sunlight had already retreated to the third story and blazed as it reflected off the windowpanes. </p><p>Marianne held the tattered shift as her spirit sank beneath weariness and grief. She recalled the profound calm that had passed over Gina’s face the moment the sword pierced her heart. The Gina she knew could not have wanted her blasphemous existence to go on. The wooden stakes that had impaled the Baroness and Latour had once inspired terror, but now they seemed to be instruments of grace. <br/>
<br/>
She pressed the shift to her cheek, then let it fall from her hands into the courtyard below. Blinking back tears, she looked across the expanse to the balcony from which she had first spied the Baron. How many girls had stood in that place, their pulses racing at the sight of the mysterious figure pacing along the bank of stained-glass windows? How many had been lured here to die, or worse, become revenants like Gina and Ella?<br/>
<br/>
Oh, God. Ella.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne’s blood ran cold. Another monster might still lurk in the castle, and Van Helsing was nowhere to be found.<br/>
 <br/>
A blade of light flashed in a neighboring window and struck a discordant note in her mind. The pane had been shattered. The curtains beyond the broken glass parted like lips. She felt a pang in her stomach, a summons, though she knew not who or what called for her.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne snatched the sword and crossed back through the door marked with the bloody cross. The doorways in the adjoining corridor yawned with sinister possibility, but Marianne made no attempt to muffle her footsteps. She wanted to be heard so that whatever beasts lingered in the chateau might reveal themselves, or that Van Helsing might prove himself alive. She was met only by echoes—she would find no answers until she reached her destination.  <br/>
<br/>
The darkness had grown thick in the great hall, and all but a few of the votives in the candelabra had blinked out. Orange light seeped through the half-open doors behind the interior balcony. Marianne ascended the stairs, holding her head high. I shall not be afraid, she told herself, even as her heart pounded. She avoided the eyes of the Meinster portraits in the gallery, and they blended into a blur of scowls and sneers.<br/>
<br/>
A smattering of bloody footprints in the adjacent hallway led to the Baroness’s chamber. Broken glass gleamed in the crack of the door. Inside, tables and chairs lay overturned on the rug, their legs snapped in two. The Baroness’s silks oozed out of half-open drawers and armoire doors, slick as entrails. The blow to the windowpane had created a row of serrated glass teeth and a shower of shards on the balcony beyond.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne laid her sword down beneath the window seat, carefully opened the casement, and climbed out. Several scarlet handprints marred the balcony railing. A strip of white cloth had become entangled in the wrought iron detailing on the balusters, and it now hung listlessly, as though it were worn out from a long struggle. With the toe of her boot, she traced a spiral in a clump of dust. <br/>
<br/>
Once more Marianne heard birdsong, this time rising from the shrubs and denuded trees in the courtyard. Sparrows flitted from branch to branch beneath a sky fading to rose and violet. Perhaps, she thought, the monsters in the chateau had breathed their last.  <br/>
<br/>
She looked back through the window. There, on the Baroness’s bed, lay Van Helsing. <br/>
<br/>
Marianne crept back inside and approached the bed, her breath caught in her throat. Van Helsing’s eyes were shut, and he did not stir at the sound of her footsteps. His coat lay under the bed; his necktie was coiled around the foot of a night table. His bare hand draped across his chest, below his wrinkled collar, and the top few buttons of his waistcoat had been undone. Scarlet smears on his shirt led to a stain half-hidden by his palm.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne could not suppress the thought: I have come too late.<br/>
<br/>
She perched beside him and smoothed stray hairs away from his face. Darkness pooled in the hollows of his cheeks and along his aquiline nose. It seemed her sword should rightfully belong upon his breast, his hands in repose over its hilt.</p><p>Marianne reached for her rosary, then remembered it was gone. She clutched a handful of the quilt and bit her trembling lip. Merely a day ago, she and Van Helsing had faced each other in the Langs’ parlor as she announced her engagement. The light had vanished from his eyes as she spoke, even as a gracious smile spread across his face. He had clearly been startled when she announced the name of her intended, but he had still asked her if she loved the Baron. She would give anything to take back her yes and to tell him what she now knew to be the truth.  <br/>
<br/>
“There was so much I didn’t understand,” she murmured. “I am so sorry.”<br/>
<br/>
A puff of breath emanated from his nostrils. Marianne darted back. Though he remained motionless, she felt a spark of hope. She placed his hand on the quilt and opened his lapels wide to expose the wound on his chest. Three slashes marked the territory just below his collarbone, and blood matted his chest hair. She gently probed the cuts. They were fringed by blackened blood that demanded cleaning, as they had almost certainly been made by fingernails. They alone would not have been enough to render him so weak, but the wrecked furniture implied a battle that had inflicted deeper damage.<br/>
<br/>
She cupped his jaw and rested his cheek on the pillow, seeking the two puncture wounds that had marked the Baroness’s body and that had gaped garishly on Gina’s throat. The skin on Van Helsing’s neck was time-worn but unbroken. She admired the elegant lines of his throat and traced them with the tip of her finger, trailing down into the hollow of his neck.<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing’s fingers flexed and brushed against her skirt. His brow furrowed, his eyes flew open, and a shudder swept through his body. He recoiled and swept his hand over the quilt in search of something. <br/>
<br/>
“Doctor, it’s all right.” Marianne reached forward to steady him. “Please don’t be upset.”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing shrank from her outstretched hands. Perhaps he had mistaken her for Ella. A darker possibility crossed Marianne's mind—perhaps he believed she had become like Ella instead. <br/>
<br/>
A crucifix mounted on wood lay beside him. Marianne reached over Van Helsing, who twisted to catch her. She clutched the crucifix with both hands and pressed it to her breast, never breaking his gaze.<br/>
<br/>
“Marianne,” he murmured as he sank into the pillows.  <br/>
<br/>
“There is blood on your clothes,” she said, handing the crucifix to him. He peered at her palm but could find no marks where Christ’s body has been. “What happened to you?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why are you here, Marianne? I begged you to stay at the inn. There is no worse place you could have come, no worse place.”<br/>
<br/>
“I found your note. I was afraid that the townspeople would not help you, and that you would come here alone. And I was right about both things.”<br/>
<br/>
“I needed Father Stepnik to stay and protect the village in case I was wrong about where the Baron’s women were hiding. And I couldn’t risk bringing any of the villagers with me. The women could not know they were being pursued here, or else they—” His gaze shifted past her to the slate blue sky beyond the chateau’s towers. His eyes cleared and he bolted up, as though called by a tolling bell. “There were two, Marianne. We cannot stay here.”<br/>
<br/>
Marianne attempted to ease him back against the pillows. “You were fighting someone,” she said gently. “Did she die?”<br/>
<br/>
“In our struggle I forced her into the sunlight. The undead can bear it no more than holy water or the cross, and she perished.”<br/>
<br/>
“Holy water. Of course!” Marianne dropped down and scavenged through Van Helsing’s coat until she retrieved a metal flask and a handkerchief. She rose to find the doctor crawling toward the edge of the bed.<br/>
<br/>
“You are wounded,” she declared, planting herself between the bed and the doorway. “Your cuts must be cleaned.”<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t understand,” Van Helsing insisted, though he winced as he rose to his feet. He brushed past her, making for the door with halting steps. “Once the sun sets, not even the prison I made for Gina will hold her. I must—”<br/>
<br/>
“Do nothing,” Marianne replied, grabbing his wrist. He turned back, bewildered. “Gina met the same fate as the girl you fought.” She lowered her head, weighed down by the memory of Gina’s body eroding away. “I am the one who carried it out.”<br/>
<br/>
“She is not like the living, Marianne,” Van Helsing warned. “She must be destroyed, utterly and completely.“<br/>
<br/>
“She is dust now,” Marianne said gravely, her throat tightening behind her words. “Burned. There is nothing left of her.”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing retreated and dropped down onto the bed, thunderstruck. His lips twitched as if to form words, but he made no sound. “Please know,” he said after several silent moments, “she had long since ceased to be the Gina you knew. You did not harm a friend; you freed her soul and gave her peace.”<br/>
<br/>
Tears rolled down Marianne’s cheeks. She pressed her sniffles into long exhalations.<br/>
<br/>
“My dear,” Van Helsing purred. Marianne could not bring himself to look at him; still, his words compelled her toward him. She sank onto the bed and into his arms, burying her face in his neck. His body yielded and his muscles relaxed. From his chest rose the metallic odor of dried blood. Still, the tobacco and lavender scents on his skin had withstood his ordeal, and they soothed her.<br/>
<br/>
“Marianne,” he continued, “I know what it means to lose friends to the undead and to undeath itself. Even when I have known their souls are at rest, I have spent countless nights retracing my ill-fated steps, as if I could somehow find a way to save them.” His hands settled on her back. “You are not alone.”<br/>
<br/>
A tear wriggled between her cheek and his neck, and she felt him shift around her. “I can’t imagine the pain I’d feel if I lost you,” he went on. “That is why I wanted to keep you away from here.” He placed his fingers under her chin and raised her head. “Although, you have proven yourself to be even more than the woman I knew last night.” <br/>
<br/>
“If it had not been for me, none of this would have happened,” she said through choked sobs. “After the Baroness told me about her imprisoned son, I went looking for him, and I released him. Now Gina and Ella and even the Baroness are all dead because of me, and you have been hurt.” She waited for him to let her go, but he kept his arms around her.<br/>
<br/>
“And had you not come to the castle, and brought the monstrous things taking place here out into the open, the cycle would have gone on and on. The Baron would have still taken lives, aided by his mother.” He stroked her hair. “It is a heavy responsibility to break that chain, even unwittingly. But in your own way, you have helped end the nightmare in Badstein, Marianne.”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing's kind words loosened guilt's grip on Marianne's heart, but they could not blot out her grim visions of what could have been. “Not without you,” she said, drawing back. “And if something happened to you because of what I had done—”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing’s cheeks reddened, and Marianne fell quiet. Staring at each other was somehow more intimate than an embrace. Strange weather passed over his face. He gently pulled away and began smoothing the wrinkles out of his clothes. When his hand brushed over his chest, he flinched.<br/>
<br/>
“I need to clean your wounds,” she said, wiping lingering tears from the corners of her eyes. “I am afraid the ones near your collar are not the only ones. Will you show me where else you have been hurt?”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing apprehensively opened his lapels and unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Marianne could now see the full bloodstain that had seeped through the fabric. She doused Van Helsing’s handkerchief with the holy water and leaned in, at which he let his shirt fall back over his torso. “With the holy water there, and perhaps some soap from the Baroness’s vanity, I’m sure I can manage,” he said, blocking his body with an outstretched hand.  <br/>
<br/>
“It will be a long time until we can get back to the village. Will you let me do you this little kindness?” <br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing flushed again and reluctantly opened his undershirt, exposing the lacerations on his chest. Marianne thought of Gina’s blood-encrusted nails, how her hands had scrabbled up her body, intent on destroying her. Ella must have clawed at Van Helsing in fear of her life. Marianne could now also see a mottled, plum-colored patch that had spread across the skin over Van Helsing’s bottom ribs. This was the wound that had weakened him. <br/>
<br/>
Marianne dabbed at the edges of the cuts. “Do you remember what happened before you fell asleep?” she asked. He shuddered at her every stroke. She wondered how long it had been since he had been touched this way.<br/>
<br/>
“I was in the Baron’s chamber, where you must have gone. The sunlight had weakened Gina, and I had trapped her near the door to the balcony. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ella running past the windows in the rooms in the opposite wing of the castle. I feared that if I stayed to finish Gina, I would lose my chance to capture Ella. She could hide in some remote chamber of the castle or, worse, escape outside after dark. So, I relied on a painted cross and the sunlight to trap Gina while I tracked Ella here. We struggled, and she gained the upper hand”—he gestured toward his chest—"until I forced her through the window.” He swept mussed hair back from his forehead, then wearily massaged his throat. “When the last of her had been swept away, every sensation I had fought back before that moment overtook me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Exhaustion,” Marianne declared. “Pain. Lost blood.” She folded the damp handkerchief in her lap.<br/>
<br/>
“I have come to know the effects of laudanum through my medical research,” he said, buttoning up his shirt. “What I felt then was markedly similar. I sat on the bed to recover myself, knowing that I would need to return to the far side of the castle for Gina.” He shook his head. “That is the last thing I can recall.”<br/>
<br/>
“If you did not wake, and I had not found you—” Marianne stopped herself, as though to say the rest would be to conjure it. “You should not have tried to fight them both by yourself.”<br/>
<br/>
“So you’ve said.” He smiled a little. “Though I have done this work on my own many times.”<br/>
<br/>
“And now you see that things should be different. That you are not meant to do it alone.”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing, who could recede no further against the headboard, fell still. He studied her face for several quiet moments. A spark caught in his eyes, then faded into gloom. Marianne was overcome by the desire to follow that spark’s trail. She swept her hand behind his head and pulled him into a kiss. At first, Van Helsing froze, but slowly he drew closer and reached for her back. His touch remained light, as though he feared breaking her. Marianne tugged gently at his bottom lip and wove her fingers into his hair. Please, don’t hold back, she longed to whisper—I finally know the truth in your heart and my own. <br/>
<br/>
A squeal sounded in the great hall. Marianne pulled away, piqued by the sound and a fresh awareness of the chill seeping in through the shattered window. “Did you hear that?”<br/>
<br/>
The room had fallen into twilight, and Van Helsing now was shrouded by it. “Yes,” he whispered. “We must have light.” He moved to sit up, cringed, and hung his head. “There are matches in my satchel, over there, by the bureau,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.<br/>
<br/>
Marianne reached into a pile of overturned drawers until she brushed against the weathered leather case. As she felt about for the matchbox, she felt the buttery texture of Van Helsing’s glove, the companion to the one he had lost in the forest. Deeper in the case lay a canvas roll, which swaddled something long, narrow, and firm. She felt along its edge through the fabric and noticed it taper to a sharp point. So, it had indeed been Van Helsing who wielded the stakes she had found throughout the chateau, and he must have been the one who struck the blow that finished the Baron. Though Van Helsing now appeared as a silhouette upon the bed, his features lost in shadow, Marianne saw in him a new complexity. He had defeated his enemies with both determination and mercy. What an intricate, wondrous thing his heart must be.  <br/>
<br/>
“Did you tell anyone where you were going when you left the inn, Marianne?” Van Helsing asked in a hushed voice as she lit two candles on the Baroness’s night table. “Would anyone have followed you here?”<br/>
 <br/>
“Only the man that drives the coach between here and Ingolstadt,” Marianne replied. “And I know he would not dare to follow me.” The very mention of the coach driver disgusted her, though this sensation was soon subsumed by renewed dread. “You must stay here. I will go see who has entered the chateau.”<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing reached out in protest, but Marianne slipped away before he could stop her. She retrieved the sword from beneath the window, and Van Helsing marveled at the blade shining in the candlelight. “I will be back soon, I promise,” she whispered. She picked up a candle holder and crept out the door, leaving it open a crack so that Van Helsing might hear her moving and be reassured. <br/>
<br/>
Night had engulfed the castle, and the sky beyond the windows of the neighboring rooms had deepened to a bruised blue. Light from the tiny flame glanced off picture frames and the glass eyes of the hunting trophies that loomed in the dark. The squeal had come from the chateau’s main doors, but who was left to trespass? Had Greta survived the death of her master? Was there a chance that Gina and Ella had learned to infect others and make more undead? She imagined how impenetrable the darkness in the great hall must be, and prayed that the candelabra were still lit. <br/>
<br/>
She set the candle down at the entrance to the gallery and dropped to her hands and knees behind the balcony wall. Footsteps sounded on the floor below. She rested the sword on the floor as silently as she could and peeked up over the edge. Two balls of flame bobbed in the darkness, their coronas exposing ornate chairbacks and floor tiles. One stranger swept a torch over a candelabrum, igniting the candles in a flourish. In their glow appeared a black-clad figure with silver hair and bushy eyebrows. Marianne exhaled in relief at the sight of his white collar.<br/>
<br/>
“Look there, by the hearth,” the priest said in a gravelly whisper.<br/>
<br/>
His companion lit the second candelabrum, then padded over to a sconce beside the fireplace. The spreading light revealed Johann the innkeeper, who had a rifle in a sling on his back. “Good God, is that Latour?”<br/>
<br/>
“Johann!” Marianne exclaimed, raising her candle to illuminate her face. “And you must be Father Stepnik.” <br/>
<br/>
“Miss! My God!” Johann swept the back of his hand across his brow. “Here of all places! Thank goodness you’re safe! Thank—”<br/>
<br/>
Stepnik snatched Johann’s shoulder and gave him a withering look. Without a word, he locked eyes with Marianne while he retrieved a crucifix from the satchel at his hip. Taking notice, Johann fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a tiny cross of his own, though his lip quivered with apprehension. Marianne walked slowly to the top of the stairs, keeping her carriage erect so that she would appear unafraid.<br/>
<br/>
“Where is Dr. Van Helsing?” Stepnik demanded. His tone was more fit for an exorcism than an inquisition. <br/>
<br/>
“Up here, in the Baroness’s room. He is injured; you must help him.”<br/>
<br/>
Faltering steps sounded in the second story corridor. Van Helsing was trying to make his way to her. <br/>
<br/>
The priest’s eyes narrowed. “And what of the Baroness?”<br/>
<br/>
Marianne swallowed hard. “She is dead.” She paused—she now knew how fluid a state death could be, and what seemingly impossible horrors it could hold. “More than dead. She is destroyed.” <br/>
<br/>
Johann shuffled towards the steps, but Stepnik held him fast. “And the women from the village?”<br/>
<br/>
Marianne braced herself on the wall. Her memories of Gina still stung, and perhaps would forever. “They too are destroyed,” she said, gulping back a sob.<br/>
<br/>
Van Helsing staggered into view, gripping the balcony wall to keep himself upright. Loose strands of hair clung to his sweaty forehead, and his blood-stained chest rose and fell as he panted. “It’s all right, Father. I assure you, it’s over.”<br/>
 <br/>
Stepnik raced up the stairs and past Marianne to catch Van Helsing as he stumbled.  Johann trotted up after him and took Marianne’s hand in both of his. “Vera and I, we nearly went mad when we saw you were gone, Miss. We sent people all over the village looking for you, fearing the worst.” Tears brimmed in his eyes. Marianne knew they were not only for her, but for all the lost girls who had come before. She squeezed his hand back. <br/>
<br/>
“Saints be praised,” Stepnik proclaimed as he draped Van Helsing’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted him up. “You’ve brought true peace to Badstein, Doctor.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” Van Helsing declared. “<em>Mademoiselle</em> and I both.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Father Stepnik and Johann ushered Van Helsing and Marianne through the forest by horse cart. Stepnik drove with Johann beside him, the rifle across his knees. Marianne sat next to Van Helsing in the straw-filled cart bed, and from there both watched the chateau vanish behind the trees. Van Helsing shifted about anxiously despite his injuries—the wildness of the night stoked his vigilance, and he was clearly unaccustomed to needing others’ protection.</p><p>Marianne kept her hand on Van Helsing’s arm to steady him, though she was also captivated by their untamed surroundings. She had fled the chateau through this same stretch of woods and had noticed nothing but the polestar of a silver stream and the blood pounding in her ears. Now she could hear the music of crickets and frogs and could smell the damp moss. Stripes of moonlight and darkness fell rhythmically over the cart. Van Helsing’s pulse beat beneath her palm. The tension in her body drained away. For the first time since she arrived in Badstein, she felt genuine relief.</p><p>They arrived at the Running Boar to find Vera pacing the empty dining room, puffing anxiously on a pipe. As the party trudged into the inn, Vera rushed to Marianne and threw her arms around her. Though the gesture startled Marianne, she embraced Vera in return. “I knew you wouldn’t break this old woman’s heart, Miss,” Vera murmured. Only the sound of Johann clearing his throat prompted her to pull away and attend to Van Helsing.</p><p>Johann and Father Stepnik escorted Van Helsing to his room and helped him behind a folding screen to undress. Marianne waited in the hall but could not help watching through the doorway while Vera hurried in with bandages and tiny bottles. Van Helsing gritted his teeth as the priest and the innkeeper solemnly stripped him of his bloodstained garments and reclothed him in his pajamas and dressing gown. He would not meet Marianne’s eyes, though she was certain he could feel her presence. It did not matter; she would not leave him.</p><p>The two men carried Van Helsing to the bed and rested him against the pillows. They had left his dressing gown and pajama shirt open, and as Marianne entered the room, he demurely closed the gown over his lacerations and bruised ribs.</p><p>“Unfortunately, Dr. Tobler won’t be back until tomorrow, sir,” Johann said. “You’ll have to make the best of what we’ve got until then.”</p><p>The inn’s door creaked, and footsteps, grunts, and murmurs filled the dining room. “God keep you until the morning, my son,” Stepnik declared, then headed downstairs.</p><p>“Must be the changing of the night’s watch,” Johann mused. “Father Stepnik can tell them the good news.”</p><p>“Those men will want more than good news,” Vera said, giving her husband a pointed look. “They’ll want you by those taps, and me behind that stove.” She turned to Marianne. “Now, Miss, can I trust you that you’ll keep watch over the doctor while we take care of the crowd downstairs?” Her eyes twinkled.</p><p>Marianne blushed and nodded. “Of course.”</p><p>“I’m sure Mademoiselle Danielle will do admirably,” Van Helsing interjected, though his cheerful words were undercut by the weariness in his voice.</p><p>“And you, Doctor—can I trust that you won’t let her escape again?”</p><p>Van Helsing held up his hand. “You have my word.”</p><p>Johann and Vera bade them both good night and Marianne found herself alone with Van Helsing once more. He leaned back and shut his eyes. Warm firelight lapped at the walls and homey furniture, and the sounds of clinking steins and conversation rose through the floor. Their surroundings were a far cry from the imposing, echo-filled halls of the Chateau Meinster, yet an undercurrent of panic ran through Marianne’s blood. The horrors they had experienced at the chateau had inspired not only fear, but passion; in the Baroness’s ruined bedchamber they had dared to reveal a mutual affection. Had their departure broken that spell? Her heart still brimmed over at the sight of Van Helsing, but perhaps he had already abandoned the possibility that there could be something between them. </p><p>Van Helsing groaned and rubbed his eyes. Marianne approached him, a bottle of iodine and bandages in hand. Below them, voices crescendoed in celebration—Stepnik must have announced their victory. Van Helsing smiled, though there was a hint of sorrow in it.</p><p>“This will sting, but I must clean your wounds properly now,” Marianne said, holding up the bottle. “You will prefer that I do so while you are awake.”</p><p>“Mmmm. There are better ways to be roused from sleep, I suppose.” He complied by raising himself up higher on the pillows but inhaled sharply when she spread aside his dressing gown and pajama shirt. As she swept the edges of his cuts, he grimaced and clutched the blanket. His chest heaved, and Marianne laid her hand on his breastbone until his breathing quieted. “It won’t do any good to bind anything,” he murmured. “It’s best to leave it all as it is. I’m sure Dr. Tobler will say the same if he’s worth his fee.”</p><p>When she had finished, Marianne sank into the chair at his bedside. Van Helsing turned and gazed at her intently. He reached out to caress her jaw with his thumb and her cheekbone with long, slender fingers. “These cuts must be attended to, though,” he declared, tapping the spot just below the scratches Gina had left on her face. He took a fresh bandage from the pile on his blanket and daubed it with iodine. “A moment’s discomfort, and it is done.” Marianne tried to focus on the gentle brushes of his hand against her skin as the antiseptic stung her cheek.</p><p>“There now, all finished,” he said. “If you take care, those badges of courage will be gone before you know it.”</p><p>His cheerful expression lasted for a few moments, then faded. “I should see you back to the Lang School tomorrow if I can manage it,” he said. “If Herr Lang was perturbed by your lateness before, I should think he would be apoplectic now.”</p><p>“If I go back to the Lang School, it will only be to gather my things.” Marianne crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders, though there was no draft in the room. “I don’t wish to remain in Badstein at all, in fact. There are too many bad memories here.” She blinked away a tear. “I would have to pass the door to Gina’s room every morning and remember what she became. I would always see the castle on the hilltop and think of what happened there. I would see the people in the village who tried to help me, but also the people who put me in harm’s way.”</p><p>“In my experience, you never do outrun memories of the things we’ve seen here,” Van Helsing replied gravely. “But one manages to make a life with them, or around them, somehow.”</p><p>They both stared into the hearth, the crackling wood softening the silence between them.</p><p>“So, you will return to Paris then,” Van Helsing eventually said.</p><p>“Perhaps, though there is no one waiting for me there. I suppose I could go where I please.”</p><p>“Oh?” His voice contained a hopeful note.</p><p>She chuckled. “The whole point of this journey was to experience some excitement, to see something new, though some might say I’ve had more than enough of that.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure,” he said with an inkling of a grin. “A woman who had her fill of adventure would not have returned to the Chateau Meinster.”</p><p>Marianne rested her hand on top of his, feather-light, her palm almost hovering above his knuckles. “That was not the only reason I went back.”</p><p>He swallowed but did not draw his hand away. She interlaced her fingers with his and savored the subtle warmth rising from his skin. He tensed briefly, curling his fingers in, but then relaxed.</p><p>“And when you can travel again, what will you do?” she asked. “I suspect you are no ordinary doctor if you know as much about the undead as you do.”</p><p>“I wish I could tell you that the horrors inflicted by the Baron and his mother were unique to Badstein,” Van Helsing replied. “But there are cases like these all over Europe. They are the vestiges of the empire of an undead tyrant called Dracula.” He took her hand in both of his. “Dracula himself is no more, but his plague survives in countless noble houses, spreading to more and more people.”</p><p>Marianne thought of the map she found with Van Helsing’s journal—its gold symbols were spread across the continent. An empire. Perhaps somewhere, on this very same night, a dark figure paced on a terrace overlooking the moonlit Mediterranean, planning his blasphemous hunt. Meanwhile, in an abandoned fortress in the Black Forest, once-human creatures might be hunched over a victim, quenching their unholy thirst. Most terribly, sinister silhouettes might loom in a window of Le Meurice, watching throngs of prey make their way along the Rue de Rivoli.</p><p>She studied Van Helsing’s care-worn face. The creases at the corner of his eyes and the shadows beneath his cheekbones hinted at many nights of perilous encounters. “So you go from place to place to find these undead and destroy them?”</p><p>Van Helsing nodded. “Once I discovered their vast web across Europe, what I believed would be a short-lived pursuit became my life’s work. Most of the undead I find are preoccupied with debauchery or revenge, as the Baron was, but not all. Others have larger and more wicked ambitions.” As dire as his words were, and as tired as he was, something ignited in Van Helsing as he spoke. “My hope is to find Dracula’s successors, or his rivals, before the world finds itself in true danger.” In his zeal, it seemed he might rise from the bed, but his fatigue soon returned, and he settled down.</p><p>“And you do this on behalf of some church, or some government?” Marianne asked.</p><p>He shook his head. “On behalf of myself, I suppose. Once one gains knowledge of something like this, it becomes impossible to look away, even if others doubt or are indifferent to you.”</p><p>“So, alone, then.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Take the chance, Marianne thought. There might not be another.</p><p>She gave him a reproachful look, though she tried to leaven it with a wry smile. “And how many nights have you nearly lost your life because you had no companion? I think I should accompany you to keep your head on your shoulders and your blood in your veins.”</p><p>Van Helsing laughed. The sound charmed Marianne, though she feigned offense. “There is nothing ridiculous about it,” she said curtly.</p><p>“Of course, there isn’t,” he said, stifling a grin. “I am only amused by your turn of phrase. Please pardon me.”</p><p>“I did stop Gina, after all, though it pained me to do it,” she continued, sitting up and primly placing her hands in her lap.   </p><p>“You did, indeed,” Van Helsing replied. That flash of amusement dissipated, and his tone and expression now conveyed a deep sincerity. “I’m quite impressed—many of those who know the weaknesses of the undead still falter when they face one. How did you know how to destroy her?”</p><p>“You taught me, Doctor.”</p><p>Van Helsing looked bewildered. “I don’t understand. There hadn’t been any time, and even if there had been—”</p><p>Now Marianne grinned. She nodded towards the table beside the window, where Van Helsing’s journal and writing tools rested. “From your book.”</p><p>Van Helsing’s brows knit as he plunged into thought. Then his face fell. She knew he had remembered the passage, interwoven in all his somber details, that he never meant for her to read. Color bloomed beneath his prominent cheekbones.  </p><p>Marianne caressed his cheek and kissed him, this time slowly and deliberately. Once more Van Helsing retreated into himself. Marianne counted several heartbeats, hoping that he would re-emerge. She tried to satisfy herself with the taste of herbal tonic on his lips and the roguish feel of the stubble on his jawline, but his stillness unnerved her. The Baron and his brides were no more. They were safe and alone. What fear still had its hold on him?</p><p>She was about to retreat when Van Helsing parted his lips and embraced her. The apprehensive man that she had tended in the chateau was gone. There was a rawness inside him, a hunger that not even his journal had revealed. He pulled away and pressed his cheek to hers, breathing deeply, as though he was shocked by the strength of his ardor.</p><p>With nothing but a glance, Marianne demanded more. Van Helsing kissed her firmly, matching her every nibble and bite. They fell into a rhythm with one another, one a wave breaking on the shore, the other a current flowing back out to sea. The clamor of the dining room below faded away. With a soft moan, he pulled her closer, then grimaced at the ache in his ribs.</p><p>Marianne wordlessly rose from her seat and lay Van Helsing down on his back. She reclined on the bed and leaned over him, kissing the bridge of his nose, then his philtrum, delaying the delicious return to his mouth. Van Helsing moaned again when her lips finally met his. He stroked her back and her ribcage as he drank her in, the pressure of his hands sending a delightful shiver down her spine. </p><p>“I’ve proven myself, then, haven’t I?” she whispered coyly into his ear.</p><p>“More ways than I can count, Marianne,” Van Helsing breathed.</p><p>She stroked the length of his nose with the tip of hers, and he sighed contentedly. “Then you’ll take me with you.”</p><p>“Anywhere you’d dare to go.” He kissed her earlobe, then her jaw, while he gently tugged pins from her bun and sent her hair spilling over her shoulders.</p><p>His words contained both an offer and a warning, though Marianne was not sure his conscious mind had registered the latter. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. They might leave Badstein, but there would be other castles, other Barons, perhaps even other Ginas. There would be more nightmares that would not dissolve by morning.</p><p>Marianne craned her neck up and felt Van Helsing’s lips brush her throat, tantalizingly close to the artery pulsing beneath her skin. His kiss was tender, yet tinged with danger, exhilarating her. She flushed and bit her lip, but let him linger there. Deep down, she knew what he recognized was true: that she had not had her fill, that she would cross still more blood-spattered thresholds to follow him. “Wherever you are,” she murmured, “I dare.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>From one Peter Cushing fan to another! I hope you've enjoyed the story!</p><p>Various elements of this fic were influenced by the Brides of Dracula novelization, written by Dean Owen and edited by Philip J. Riley. </p><p>Thanks to bironic for the read-through and helpful suggestions!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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